


Fractured

by sky_blue_hightops



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Broken Bones, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 05:43:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15478899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops
Summary: He was so focused on apprehending the suspect, his teritiary sensors failed to pick up on the movement of the crowd. Before he could react, someone’s elbow unbalanced him. He hadn’t realized how close he was to the edge. The concrete under him disappeared.***Connor is injured, and as per usual tries his best to hide it.





	Fractured

The suspect sprinted across the street ahead of them, Connor hot on his heels. The man scaled a short retaining wall, his slight build allowing him more speed. Connor pushed his systems as fast as they could go, mechanical functions in his legs working at a solid 94%.

Connor launched himself over the wall, not even taking a moment to orient himself before picking up the pace once more. The two dashed through a thick crowd on a shopping plaza’s balcony, one side nothing but a sheer drop. The suspect shouldered his way past several pedestrians, cursing and shoving. The distance between himself and the suspect was closing fast, he just needed a few more strides-

He was so focused on apprehending the suspect, his teritiary sensors failed to pick up on the movement of the crowd. Before he could react, someone’s elbow unbalanced him. He hadn’t realized how close he was to the edge. The concrete under him disappeared.

For a few, terrifying seconds he fell, his vestibular sensors going haywire with warnings and alerts. They filled his vision. At some point he impacted with the side of the cliff - a sharp sound and more warnings from his right arm - he couldn’t grip the rock face, couldn’t slow his fall - fear gripped him and refused to let go, which way was up and which down? A hit to his head halted logic processes for a second and all he knew was confusion and darkness.

He tumbled to a stop a long ways below the balcony, spending several moments staring up at the sky as his processes struggled to come back online. He pushed himself into a sitting position only for his right arm to give way under him - he hit the ground again, hard enough to short out his optical input for 1.3 seconds. His head swam. Where was he?

Memory recall jolted back online, involuntarily pulling up flashes of a chase, of a fall, of pain - he hissed and drew in a breath as the full sensory feedback from his arm flooded his systems. The internal support structure in his right forearm was badly fractured; it was just minor enough to not requite replacement. That meant he would have to initiate his self-repair program over the next three days if he wished to regain full functionality.

He gripped his broken arm with his other hand, holding it close to his chest as he stumbled to his feet. Any wrong movements prompted a new set of warnings from the broken area. He wanted to disable them, but if he did then he would have no way of telling if his actions worsened the injury. So he held it as tightly as he could without cutting off thirium flow, and tried to calculate his way back up the cliff.

***

Hank sighed and checked his watch once more, leaning against the hood of his car and squinting against the late afternoon sun. He was about to set out in search of Connor before the kid strolled into view around the bend, seemingly unruffled save the twigs and leaves in his hair and jacket. And - Hank squinted harder - the way he was holding his arm. “You okay? Didya catch him?”

Connor paused before shaking his head. “The suspect unfortunately escaped through the crowd in the Fairview Plaza. I was unable to continue the chase. But I gathered enough details to ascertain where he is hiding out.” Connor cracked open the passenger side door and slipped in, leaving Hank standing in the sun wondering what had happened, exactly. The older detective caught just a glimpse of a pained expression on Connor’s face before the door slammed shut.

***

The constant running of his self-repair program coupled with the gnawing pain of his arm wore Connor down over the next few days. So much so that the repair was taking even longer than the anticipated three days.

He tried his best to work on the cases that came their way, but it was becoming difficult to focus on anything but the sharp, stabbing ache in his arm whenever he walked, whenever he moved, whenever he so much as _breathed_ \- but if he turned off his artificial respiration system he knew Hank would figure out something was up, plus the fact that his vocal regulator operated using the air flow.

The constant stream of warnings was enough to make his head ache, and making it worse was the fact that he was sure he had a small dent on the back of his head from the fall. The first night had resulted in small blue stains on his pillow. After that, he slipped a rag under his head when he slept and hoped Hank wouldn’t notice.

**ENERGY LEVELS: 21%.**

And that. The running of his self-repair program constantly drained any energy he replenished overnight. All these factors were beginning to affect him significantly. He wasn’t sure how much longer it would take to heal anymore. His self-repair program was working as hard as it could, but there was only so much it could do between his constant movements and the focus his work required.

“Hey. Connor. What are you doing?”

The pen in Connor’s right hand trembled as he filled out paperwork. Simply closing his hand in a loose fist around the pen was aggravating the injury even more than moving it, but if he swtiched to writing with his left hand Hank would definitely notice. He didn’t need Hank worrying about him; the issue would resolve itself. So he continued signing forms, his signature shaky.

“Kid, I’m talking to you.”

Connor spared the older detective a glance, aware his gaze and posturing were more hostile than intended but without the energy to care. The pain was frustrating him. The lack of progress was frustrating him. Hank’s constant interruptions were frustrating him. “I am filing paperwork, Lieutenant.” A jolt of pain up his arm, a barely-concealed flinch.

Hank cast a Look at Connor’s shaking hand. He willed it to stop trembling, but the way the components in his arm moved to make that happen only sparked more pain. “What’s with the attitude, huh? Didn’t ask you to get snippy with me.”

“I am well aware, Lieutenant.” Silence. Hank shoved a swath of paperwork into the drawer under his desk and stood abruptly.

“C'mon. We’ve got a scene to get to. Maybe you can stop being pissy long enough for us to solve this case.”

Connor got up to follow him, too weary to defend himself. He would explain his behavior later, when he could find the desire to do so.

***

The car ride over was uneventful in that if anything important had happened, Connor was too busy keeping his systems online and from being overwhelmed by warnings and pain to notice. Hank was stewing in the driver’s seat, for which Connor was grateful. An annoyed Hank meant a distracted Hank.

Getting out of the car was much harder than getting in. Hank was still beside him, and for Connor to either lag behind or open the door with his left arm would be noticed. So he pulled the handle ( **WARNING- WARNI- WARN- WARNIN-** ) and pushed open the door ( **SYSTEMS OV- WARNING- COMPROMISED-** ). He bitterly hoped his LED was anything but the pained red he felt, otherwise this would all be for naught.

He kept pace with Hank, disabling his artificial respiration whenever the lieutenant’s back was turned so his ragged breathing wouldn’t give him away. He heard Hank converse with an officer, and followed him around the scene, but couldn’t absorb any of the information.

Maybe Hank noticed he wasn’t fully present, or maybe he was still so annoyed that he didn’t want to confer with Connor, but before the android realized it, Hank was ushering him out with an “open and shut, really” over his shoulder and some colorful curses against the paperwork that awaited them under his breath. Connor obliged, sensory input hazy. He tugged at his door handle with his right arm before remembering that it hurt. He stared at his arm. Shouldn’t that be repaired by now? Had he lost track of the days?

A puff of air against his neck as Hank reached around him to pull open the door. “Get in, geez. The doors don’t bite, Connor.” Connor did so, closing it behind him with his left hand.

Hank backed out onto the road. “You wanna tell me what that was, back there? Or are you gonna make me guess?”

“I…don’t understand.” Monotone. He didn’t have the energy for anything else.

“You completely zoned out on me, kid. What is it? You giving me the silent treatment or somethin’?” Hank made a turn. Connor was distantly aware that the station was in the opposite direction.

“My apologies, Lieutenant. It won’t happen again.”

Narrowed eyes. Another Look. “You’re dodging.”

Connor would sigh, but at some point he had forgotten to turn his breathing back on. “Affirmative.”

Hank turned to look at him directly. “You’re really bad at dodging.”

“…Affirmative.”

Hank braked, jolting the two of them. A fresh wave of warnings flooded Connor’s vision. A hiss of pain escaped him. Hank didn’t hear. “I need a straight answer, Connor. I get you’re annoyed, but-”

Connor couldn’t take it anymore. He just wanted his arm fixed and some time to properly replenish his energy levels - he didn’t want Hank mad at him on top of everything his systems were having to deal with. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. It just…” He gripped his broken arm tighter, the pressure comforting. It made the fracture feel stable. “It hurts, Hank.”

Hank froze, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Oh,  _Connor_.”

He felt…awkward. It wasn’t a major injury, but the past few days wore away his capabilities for rational thought until all he could think about was how awful he felt. “I didn’t intend for this to affect our investigations-”

Hank cursed, slamming one hand on the handle of the steering wheel. “You have to tell me when you get injured! I can’t help you if you don’t tell me things, Connor-”

His grip tightened even more. “It started as a minor injury-”

“Is it your arm?”

Connor blinked. “What? Yes.”

“I have an old splint you can borrow. Keep you from jostling it every time you move.” He started the car once more, this time in the direction of the house. “We’ll go pick it up.”

Something loosened in Connor’s chest, and his stress levels decreased. The pain in his arm was manageable knowing there was an end in sight. “…are you still irritated with me?”

Hank groaned. “No, I’m not, not if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Connor glanced at the mirror. His own brown eyes looked back, perfectly normal if not tired.

“Like- like- aw, kid, don’t make me say it!”

Connor felt a flash of amusement, accepting the distraction for what it was. “I am unaware of what you are referring to.”

A few mumbled curses. “Like some kicked puppy. I can’t stay mad at that face-” More cursing, then a quiet moment. “Just. Tell me? If you’re hurt. I want to be able to help you, son.”

“…okay. I appreciate your concern, Hank.” Hank saw Connor’s LED cycle blue in the corner of his eye.

“You’d better, you’re giving me grey hairs.”

“Hank, your hair is already grey-”

“Shut up and take a nap. We won’t get home for a while.”

“Thank you.”

A tired smile crossed Hank’s face. “No problem, kid.”


End file.
